I also am terrible about cards. Because, honestly, I just forget to buy them. Or, on the off chance that I actually remember to *buy* them, I forget to give them.

I figured I could get ahead of the curve by buying black cards (and envelopes to match) and just doing my own cards (sort of along the lines of the #lunchboxlovenotes), while SuperAndrew, King of All Wrapping, wraps the gifts. That way, the card gets done and I have someone to remind me to grab it (or just attach it to the gift).

I usually try to make the card something that the recipient is into (I did a Kaiju for one of Genevieve's friends this summer, for example).

Saturday, November 11, 2017

I'm finally coming out from under the oppressive, depressive fog, and, for the first time in a long time, I'm feeling really, really good.

Wins are really, really, really important for me these days. They remind me that I'm good at this mothering, parenting thing. (This is why I blog [HAHAHAHAHAHA, sometimes] about the good days. Because I can go back and read about them on the bad days, and I remember. The bad days are seared into my memory forever. I don't need to write about those.)

So here's a win.

When Mom was growing up in Germany, if someone got hurt, an adult would give them a sugar cube, and once the offending "owwie" stopped hurting, the kiddo could eat the sugar cube.

I've talked about Genevieve's sugar-induced transformation from adorable Mogwai to terrifying Gremlin. But extreme times call for extreme measures.

Genevieve - like many kids - was terrified of shots. The mere mention of them would make her practically apoplectic with fear.

[Before I continue any further: This is not an open forum for debating vaccines, or vaccine efficacy. Thank you.]

But I cracked it, courtesy of some inspiration from Halloween.

Last year, Genevieve cut her finger on a cheese knife [while my most excellent and very capable mother was supervising, because even supervised, accidents can and will happen] - which was the first time we tried the 'M' Method(TM) to get her to calm down and put a band-aid on. Up to that point, she told me she was just planning on keeping the paper towel on her finger forever.

FOREVER, Mommy.

"Okay," I said, fetching one tiny M&M** (which is just an "M"), like the stingy, joyless, sugar miser/ Tsugar Tsarina I am, "When it stops hurting, you can eat the M."

We used M&Ms for a while (in fun sized bags, applied like an ice pack after vaccinations), until Genevieve discovered better chocolate. Swiss chocolate. (Lindt, to be specific.)

Fast forward to last month, when we needed to get our flu shots. Genevieve packed two special pieces of Easter chocolate (YES, we still have Easter chocolate in the freezer, see "Tsugar Tsarina" above) in each ziploc bag so that each kiddo would have their own, and off to Kaiser we went.

"YAY, flu shots!" Genevieve said, because in addition to the chocolate, YES, we were going to get ice cream afterward. (The sugar binge post vaccinations is based on science, study linked below.)

"Flu shots, YAY!" Rex chanted, all the way there. In the minivan. In the waiting room. In the injection room.

He was so enthusiastic that a doctor (who was updating her charts when we came in) walked over to see our own young vaccine enthusiast for herself. Rex was all smiles and excited.

Genevieve wanted to go first, so if Rex screamed, she wouldn't have to stay and listen (two adults meant that they could wait out of earshot).

[I could talk about kids and compassion, but really, it just makes the experience that much more stressful for her, and THEN she has to get the shot.]

Genevieve was brave, right up until the needle was prepped. Then came the anxiety.

Genevieve, who is terrified of needles, gave no more than a slight gasp when she got her flu shot.

That's it. No screaming. No tears. A small, quiet, gasp. And then she was done and eating her chocolate.

Rex went next, due for two shots that day, so he was on my lap. The first poke came, and in the most *offended* voice he said, "OUCH." [If he was older, the tone would have matched "Thanks, JERK. THAT HURT."]

... And then he saw the nurse getting the SECOND one prepped, and when she poked him, he started up like a siren---

-- and abruptly stopped when I handed him his baggie of chocolate.

"Here's your chocolate, buddy," I said, deftly handing him to his father (because two year olds and chocolate are a sticky mess).

Everybody was happy, everybody got vaccinated, and then everybody went together to get ice cream.

Genevieve, not throwing away her shot! (Old picture, but the sentiment is the same)

... And it's totally legit, per this study. (I would still do it, even if it wasn't backed by science.)

** If you're not thrilled about the ingredients of M&Ms, I highly recommend the Unreal Candy Coated Milk Chocolates. They. Are. Delicious. They don't come in "fun sized" bags, that I've been able to find, so you'll have to DIY that business.

Mainly, it teaches kids to make their own fun. Which they will. (I also absolutely acknowledge that letting kids manage their own entertainment is easier said than done.)

Given an empty hallway, a bag of balloons, an agreement that I would tie any balloons that the kids inflated, and maybe two hours of work on their part (mostly Genevieve's, though Rex did his best), I give you:

Balloon-a-palooza

The party hallway.

(No party in progress, obviously, because I didn't want to ruin the fun by pulling out my phone/camera.)

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Resilience has been the topic of discussion at school, so naturally, it's been on my mind.

I was talking to a friend about Mom, and about her life, and as I was recounting some of the things that have made her who she is. Resilient.

I could tell you a moving story. One about overcoming insurmountable challenges, about prevailing in the face of adversity.

(Obviously, not here. Here, she's reading with the kids.)

... Instead, I'm going to tell you the Wall Barf story.

The summer between 8th and 9th grade, we painted the inside of our house. Growing up, we did most of the home improvements ourselves. My dad worked long hours, so it was usually Mom, KidBrotherSam, and me taking on these (in retrospect) rather ambitious projects together.

[SIDE NOTE: if our family had a motto, I think it would be "shared suffering brings us closer". I should embroider that on a pillow, or put it on a family crest.]

Mom has always been good about assigning age- and developmentally-appropriate tasks, so there was a lot of taping, putting down dropcloths, and of course, painting. (To this day, I hate painting ceilings, because I can't manage to do it without getting paint in my hair. But I digress.)

She also decided on projects and techniques before the age of Pinterest (and Pinterest Fails), and web tutorials, which have changed the game a bit, when it comes to DIY anything and everything.

The idea was to do spatter painting in our living room. I'm sure her intention was to look stylish and fun, kind of like this:

We prepped, we painted, we spattered. It was really, really fun.

The end result looked like this:

Mom and KidBrotherSam. circa 1996, looking appropriately goofy for our #PinterestFail before there were Pinterest Fails

Hm.

"This is awful. It looks like someone projectile vomited all over our walls," she said, accurately assessing the aesthetic we had achieved.

We painted over it, and started again. We tried spray bottles, paintbrushes through screens, and just flinging paint at the wall.

It took three or four tries before Mom decided that spatter painting wasn't going to happen. (Mom: in looking at the picture, I think it was a color choice and paint viscosity issue, combined.)

So, we took a picture to document our epic fail (before there were epic fails!) after the last attempt, and painted over our experiment, one last time.

The most important lesson I took away was that, even if a plan doesn't work out, it doesn't mean it was a total waste. It doesn't mean that our day was ruined. You paint over it, and move on.

Monday, April 10, 2017

This year, Genevieve has been in the 4-day class at her preschool. What that means is that, along with the fantastic play-based curriculum, the kids bring their own snack.

As part of teaching Genevieve the power of independence, she's responsible for packing her own snack in her Frozen lunchbox the night before.

[NOTE: doing things for themselves gives kids better self-esteem. It's all an investment in her future! Not to mention the fact that she's packing food that she'll eat cheerfully and - best of all- I'm not doing it!]

We have some guidelines (fruit, protein, carbs), and we make sure there's nothing on the school allergy list**

The deal is: if she packs her snack, then I have time to do a note. If I have to pack it, then there's no note. (I haven't packed her snack - ever - this year.)

This has given me the opportunity to continue my own excellent mom's tradition of lunchbox love notes, and - along with making Genevieve feel loved- it has taught me that I can draw.

The notes started very simple, a short statement on a heart-shaped post-it note, but then, one day I did a doodle of me saying "I love you THIIIIIS MUCH!". And Genevieve really liked it.

She's what I like to call a "tangible media" kid, meaning, she likes stuff she can hold on to. Printed pictures, letters. And love notes. She carried the heart all over. She didn't want to throw it away, even after it's unfortunate rendezvous with the sink.

[Helpful hint: pink post-it notes will stain a white sink if they get wet. You're welcome.]

Like it often happens with me, the whole thing grew into, well, a whole thing. Mouse, cookie, apples, trees, and whatnot.

I try to tie in things that we're talking about, and it's always something that's relevant to her, and she'll drop subtle-for-a-five-year-old hints, "This was a good note, but I'd really like a Frozen note."

Some of my favorites, you can click the picture to see the whole album

I have a problemaddiction passion for stationary. Good pens, nice paper; I just love it. So when I decided to really start doing these, I pulled out the new set of metallic markers from Office Depot, and a black notepad, and we were in business. (I've upgraded to black index cards since then, because Genevieve was worried about her notes getting wrinkly.)

I've been asked how I do the notes, and, while I'm sure it will take some of the magic away, here it is:

First, the materials list. Obviously, you don't have to use exactly the same stuff that I do, but here it is:

(A butterfly is a circle, an oval, and two sort- of kidney beans. Easy!)

If you don't find a line drawing that you like, google some fan art. (Though, when I searched for Shrek fan art, the results were... unexpected. Consider yourself warned.)

I start with a good, central beginning point- like the eyes- and sort of work my way out from there. I'm really working at it because it gives me a lot of satisfaction to be able to do something I thought I could never be good at.

But here's the thing I've learned: the pictures don't have to be amazing, or even good. Just the effort of the doodle seems to be what matters most.

I did an Ariel earlier in the year, and then did another. Here they are:

Before

After

You can see how I've upped my lunch note game.

When I picked Genevieve up from school, she asked me why I had done another Ariel note.

"Your first one was really good!" She said.

"You don't like this one better?" I asked.

"No, I just like the first one. You did a great job!"

She's so enthusiastic about her notes, that thinking up ideas and surprising her is a real pleasure.

There have been some unintended and unexpected benefits to doing a daily lunch note; Genevieve's pre-reading skills have advanced to some site words, which I learned when she was reading text messages over my shoulder. (Oops.)

She feels loved, and it's a special thing I can do to connect with her when I'm not with her.

** the school allergy list includes peanuts, tree nuts, sunflower seeds, Sesame seeds, avocado, and oats. We had a full-on "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" situation when my dad was helping her pack her snack, and he suggested almonds. Genevieve, to her credit, reminded him about the kids with nut allergies, and my dad said, "But what about almonds?" I repeated, "Peanuts and TREE NUTS." Allergies are very serious, and definitely not funny, but this was, because I had to remind my father, the erstwhile almond farmer (true story), that almonds grow on trees.

Email Subscriptions powered by FeedBlitz

Don't steal, mmmmkay?

Any redistribution or reproduction of part or all of the contents in any form is prohibited.

Jasmin is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to amazon.com.